Jimmy's Girl Friend

The car horn beeped once; it wasn't rude, it was our prearranged signal. Stepping out of the car, I went to the back and opened the trunk, and then opened the rear passenger's side door. On this crisp winter day, the bright morning sun favorably illuminated the doctor's well maintained, expensive two story white and aquamarine house. The tastefully selected aquamarine front door opened for Jimmy to roll out.

A young woman I'd never seen before strode purposefully before Jimmy. She wore a 70's style peasant dress, the kind with that was white from the bust up to the shoulders and downwards to the ankle, navy blue or black with a pattern of copious fruits or other busy abstract figures. The ancient dress managed to both accentuate and loosely concealed her well formed, upright breasts and classically proportioned figure. Her smooth, olive complexion and dark straight hair, which ranged down her shoulders, screamed Italian. Italian goddess. Her large brown eyes and muted red lips smiled sincerely at me. It was clear she was happy and welcoming. Few times in my live have I ever seen a woman so beautiful.

"Hello," I said looking at her. "Hello Jimmy," I greeted my charge. "You look good today, Jimmy." Jimmy had good days and bad days.

"Hello Mr. Hazlette," Jimmy answered. "Thanks for volunteering in my hour of need." My eyes locked onto the beauty before him.

"Hello Mr. Hazlette," she said with a generous smile. "My name is Enrica. Nice to meet you." She entered the open door and scooted over to sit behind the driver's seat.

"What a fool," murmured Jimmy. "Talking to himself."

"What did you say Jimmy?" I asked. "Remember I can't hear well." I cupped my better, left ear.

"I said, 'thanks for volunteering'," Jimmy yelled. "I really had no one else to take me today."

"You're welcome son," I replied. "I should receive new hearing aid batteries later today. Sorry for the annoyance."

Jimmy rolled his wheelchair over to the open door and lifted himself into my car. Folding the wheelchair, I stole a glimpse at pimply Jimmy and perfect Enrica. Jimmy just stared ahead with his ear buds plugged in, absorbed. Enrica's eyes fixed upon me. I put the wheelchair in the trunk and got into the car.

As I backed out Enrica said, "If you don't mind Mr. Hazlette, while Jimmy's registering for classes, would you drive me by my old home so I can pick something up? It's only six blocks from his college and I won't be long, I promise."

Looking in the rearview mirror I answered Enrica, "I'd be happy to." I continuously stole looks at her and each time her pleasant gaze met mine. She did not signal annoyance or come hither but joy, as if being freed of prison, I guess. How did little Jimmy rate a beautiful girlfriend like Enrica? In my best days, she would have been out of my league. She appears about 24 and Jimmy's only 18. I hope she has a nice personality and that he realizes what a treasure he has.

"How long?" I asked.

"I've stayed with Jimmy and his parents for almost a month now," she looked slightly sheepish. "They are such sweet people."

"Yes, they are," I replied. "They were so kind after my wife passed." I paused and looked at her in the mirror again. As many questions that I asked about her life and experiences, she turned around to get me to talk about my life and career. I learned nothing about her.

Finally, I could no longer hold off the question screaming in my mind. "It surprises me that Jimmy never said anything about you, Enrica. You've heard it all you life, I'm sure, that you have looks to kill for." Enrica flashed a sad expression. "I mean, I don't mean anything bad. I don't know why he never showed you off. I mean, an eighteen year old boy with..."

"No offense taken, Mr. Hazlette," Enrica interrupted me. "Perhaps he didn't want your competition." She smiled seductively.

"At seventy-three..." I responded.

"Mr. Hazlette," interrupted Jimmy. "Please make the next left and then you can let me out anywhere near a sidewalk, okay?"

"Yes sir, Jimmy," I responded.

Wheelchair out. Jimmy out. Back in the car.

"Which direction, Enrica?" I asked.

"Straight. Make the right at the light and left on Cumberland," she said. I pulled into the college traffic. "Do you mind if I sit in the front seat with you?"

"Be my guest. I'll just pull over and..."

"Keep driving, Mr. Hazlette. I'll just climb over the seat." Before I could protest she had swung her legs over the seat, slithered over the top of the seat, and graciously settled into the seat ruffling her skirt back into place. Her feet were well formed and her legs well toned. I felt dirty looking at her as I did.

"Are you sure someone will let you in, Enrica?"

"Yes, I can get in. I've lived there a very long time," she answered.

"Do you have any children or a career?"

"No, I never had any children. I wish I had. Career?" she chuckled to herself. "No, I really prefer to just hang around the house."

"Had? You are still young enough to have children. You just have to meet..."

She interrupted, "Mr. Hazlette, please. Don't make me any sadder..."

"Sorry. I'm an idiot. Of course you know," I apologized. "But sad? You seem the picture of joy. I can't remember anyone so happy."

"It's the two story house with the aquamarine front door," she pointed out. "Would you mind just pulling onto the swale?" The car nosed onto the grass. "A little further up, please?" The car came to a rest at the property line and the street. "Leave the engine running, please." She just looked at me without moving.

Finally, it dawned on me. "May I get the door for you?" I asked.

She beamed and replied, "Why thank you, Mr. Hazlette. You're a gentleman."

I got out and walked around to her door and opened it politely. "Actually Enrica, I appreciate the opportunity for gallantry. Not much opportunity anymore."

She responded with an open mouth smile. "I know. Why don't you find some good music?"

I punched up some good music and looked back but she was gone. The front yard had numerous patches of dried sand surrounded by brown grass. Last painted white with aquamarine trim, the faded and peeling paint screamed neglect and despair. The peeling aquamarine paint on the front door offered no hospitable greeting.

After longer than I cared to wait, the front door suddenly sprang open and a woman and man in their late fifties bolted to the sidewalk. "God damn her!" she yelled turning to face the house. "Why did she have to come back?"

"She can rot in Hell!" he screamed. I could hear them clearly. "What are we going to do now?"

"I thought that priest got rid of her," she said. "Lying bastard. This is all your fault, you know. We'll have to pay him again."

"Remember you had a hand in it," he replied. Suddenly, they realized with horror that I, an interloper, also occupied their private world on the sidewalk. I turned away from their savage expressions and toward the ramshackle house.

Immediately, my eyes were drawn to the large window on the second floor where I beheld the grim, dour expression on the face of Enrica, as she glared at the couple below. My focus lowered to the large crimson red stain, which soaked the white top of her dress. Just above her left breast protruded the handle of a large hunting knife.

Enrica turned her gaze to me and spoke as clearly as if still in the car, "This has been my home for the last twenty-five years. Instead of returning with you, I've decided to stay. Good bye, Mr. Hazlette."